It's a jungle out there
by dust on the wind
Summary: The authorities have said that all the animals that escaped from the zoo have been accounted for. Well, they would say that, wouldn't they?
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I accept responsibility for anything particularly silly, or any lapse into the realms of questionable taste, appearing in this story._

_It is just over a week since the end of the episode "Monkey Business"... _

* * *

The official line was that all the animals which had escaped from the Hammelburg Zoo after the bombing raid had been accounted for, one way or another, and that the delay in re-opening some of the exhibits was due to the difficulty in finding workmen to complete the repairs to the damaged enclosures.

Of course, nobody believed the official line, not while the penguins were still to be seen parading along the banks of the river twice a day.

Colonel Klink, the Kommandant of Stalag 13, had tried at first to convince the men under his command, and the prisoners of war under his supervision, that there were no wild animals running loose in the vicinity, but after the meerkat incident, he preferred to say nothing more about it.

The prisoners had plenty to say.

"I tell you, something was following me," said LeBeau, struggling out of the guard's uniform he had been wearing for the night's excursion. He was trying to explain his late return; it was already daylight, and morning roll-call was imminent.

Carter, who was watching at the door, was not particularly sympathetic. "It was probably a squirrel," he said.

"It was bigger than a squirrel."

"You never know," Carter persisted. "Some of those squirrels get pretty big."

"It wasn't a squirrel, Carter. Squirrels don't stomp around in the bushes."

Carter shrugged. "Rabbit, then."

"No, LeBeau's right," Newkirk put in. He was cleaning his fingernails, using the point of the knife that he wasn't allowed to have. "I don't know what it is, but there's something out there that shouldn't be. Of course, it could just be another one of those ruddy gazelles."

Anything more that might have been said was lost, as Carter gave the word: "Schultz is coming."

Nobody showed much interest when Sergeant Schultz rolled into the barracks. LeBeau was still ridding himself of the German uniform. Newkirk continued his manicure.

"Roll-call," Shultz announced. "Everybody out. _Raus, raus, raus_."

"I'm not quite ready, Schultz," LeBeau called over his shoulder. "Can you start without me?"

Schultz shook his head. "You should be ready. You know what time roll-call is, you have plenty of...Newkirk, I wish you would not do that. It's dangerous. You could hurt yourself."

Newkirk was inspecting the result of his work with apparent dissatisfaction. "Well, if you'd let me have a decent nail file, Schultz, it'd be a lot safer, wouldn't it?"

"Nail files are not allowed," said Schultz. "Kommandant's orders."

"Just because someone took the door of Klink's quarters off its hinges? Schultz, it's unfair to punish the lot of us for something one man did."

"And anyway," Carter put in helpfully, "you didn't use a nail file for that, did you, Newkirk?"

"Please, Carter," Schultz interrupted, "I do not want to know who did it. I do not care who did it. I do not care how or why they did it. I know nothing. It's better that way. Now, everybody out for roll-call. LeBeau, are you still not ready?"

"If someone would give me a hand..." LeBeau snapped back. Schultz sighed, and, handing his rifle to Carter, went to the little Frenchman's assistance.

"What's going on, Schultz?" Colonel Hogan emerged from his private quarters. Kinch, who had been updating him on news from the Underground, followed.

"Roll-call. As soon as the cockroach is ready." Schultz dumped LeBeau's uniform jacket on the table, and turned back to the door. Halfway there, he stopped. "Newkirk - I will take that, thank you."

Newkirk, surprised, handed him the knife. Schultz put it in his pocket, and proceeded on his way.

"Uh...Schultz?" Carter called after him, holding up the rifle. Schultz turned back, grabbed the gun, and left the barracks, grumbling under his breath.

The men straggled out after him, LeBeau pulling his sweater over his head as he went.

"Why was he so late?" Hogan murmured to Newkirk, as they lined up.

"Noises in the undergrowth, Colonel," Newkirk replied.

Hogan shook his head in frustration. "I'm starting to think things are getting out of hand. Yeah, I know, situation normal."

After the head-count was completed, and before the prisoners were dismissed, the Kommandant made an announcement. "Prisoners of the Third Reich," he began, smugly, "I am pleased to report that our glorious forces in Tunisia have brought the advance of the British First Army to a standstill."

"Why don't you tell us about Stalingrad, mate?" came the reply.

Klink glared at the most likely offender, who was gazing into the distance with an abstracted air. "Corporal Newkirk, take two steps forward."

"Who, me, sir?" This with an expression of outraged innocence.

"Yes, you." Klink favoured him with a look of condescension. "Your added commentary is not needed. I can very well report the great success of the armies of the Third Reich without your assistance."

"I don't know what you mean, sir. To be honest," Newkirk went on confidingly, "I wasn't really listening. I was distracted by the flamingoes outside the wire."

"That's enough from you," Klink broke in. He did not turn to see if there really were flamingoes outside the wire, but his eyes flickered in that direction. "One more word, and you will find yourself on report. Back into line."

Newkirk shuffled back, apparently crushed by the injustice of the accusation.

"Sir, I protest," said Hogan. "Even if you were sure it was Newkirk - which, by the way, is open to argument - he was only asking for information. It's a long time since we've had an update on the Russian Front. The last instalment ended on such a cliffhanger...!"

"When there is any news - and it will be good news for our side, I can assure you - you will be informed." The Kommandant hesitated, then decided to cut his losses. "Dismissed!"

As the prisoners dispersed, Hogan's core team gathered outside the barracks. The colonel, relaxing against the door frame as if he had nothing on his mind, made a slow, unobtrusive survey of the compound. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he began to speak.

"We've had word from the Underground. There's a new rocket testing site, twenty miles to the north of here. One of their operatives has managed to get close enough to take some pictures. They want to pass the film over to us."

"Undeveloped, Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

"The operative thinks he's being followed, and he hasn't had a chance to do anything with it. Our job is to get the film, develop the negatives and send them to London."

"Our man can't get to us here," Kinch added. "He's hiding out near a farm the other side of Hammelburg."

"Right," Hogan took up the tale again. "Now, the farmer is going to contact Klink and request a work detail to help with some planting. While we're there, someone will go for a walk and make the pickup. Should be an easy one, for once. Any questions?"

Carter raised his hand, diffidently. "What are we supposed to be planting, Colonel?"

"Potatoes," replied Hogan. "Oh, come on," he added quickly, "it could be worse. Hard work never killed anyone"

"That's easy for you to say," muttered Kinch. "You won't be digging...sir."

"Last time we planted potatoes, I couldn't stand up straight for a week," said LeBeau sullenly.

"I had more blisters than the whole bleedin' Afrika Korps," growled Newkirk.

"Yeah, and I thought I'd never get my fingernails clean," added Carter.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "I'll lend you my knife, Andrew. When I get it back. Which should be any minute now," he added, as Schultz hove into view.

Schultz did not look happy. He responded to their cheerful greetings with the nearest thing to a scowl that he could manage. "Don't bother me today," he said. "I have enough troubles of my own."

"What's the matter, Schultz?" asked LeBeau

"The Kommandant is still in a very bad mood. And Langenscheidt is off sick. He says he was bitten by a raccoon."

"That's bad," said Carter seriously. "Poor little thing."

"Langenscheidt is not so little," said Schultz.

"I meant the raccoon. It was probably really scared."

"Carter, there probably wasn't a raccoon at all," said Kinch. "Langenscheidt just wanted a few days off. Schultz, I bet you wish you'd thought of it first."

"No, there really was a raccoon," Schultz insisted. "I didn't see it, but I saw the bite mark. Oh, it was terrible. He had to have stitches. And they gave him an injection against rabies."

"Gee, those things hurt," Carter murmured. "How'd he take it?"

"Like any good German soldier. He cried like a baby."

"I was talking about the raccoon again, Schultz."

"You sure it wasn't a badger?" Newkirk asked, leaning on Schultz's shoulder. "Or a kitten?"

"It might have been the Kommandant," added LeBeau. "Didn't you say he was in a bad mood?"

"Very funny. Jolly jokers," muttered Schultz, shaking Newkirk off and walking away. Then he turned back. "Newkirk - please." He held out his hand.

Newkirk looked at him with guileless bemusement. "What, Schultz?"

Schultz waggled his fingers. "Give it back."

With a startled glance at his mates, Newkirk pulled the knife out of his back pocket and put it into Schultz's hand. Schultz, with an air of self-satisfaction, turned and went on his way. Newkirk gazed after him, ignoring the gleeful snickering of LeBeau and Carter. For the first time in living memory, he was speechless. Finally, he shook his head.

"I must be losing my touch," he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

"At least we got nice weather for it," said Carter, as they got out of the truck at the farm.

"Oh, well, that makes everything all right, doesn't it?" replied Newkirk. "We're not on an excursion to the pier at Bournemouth, Carter."

Carter looked offended. "It doesn't hurt to look on the bright side occasionally. You should try it."

"I'll put it on my list for after the war."

Kinch, descending in his turn, laughed. "Maybe you can include it in your stage act. I'd pay to see it."

"Oh, very funny."

Schultz came bustling over. "No talking. You are here to work."

"Oh, come on, Schultz, we only just got here," said Hogan, who had been conferring quietly with LeBeau. "No need to come the heavy this early in the morning."

"Colonel Hogan, with respect," Schultz replied with great dignity, "there is no time for standing around. It is nearly half past eight, we are running late already."

"Well, don't blame me, blame the armadillo," Hogan protested.

"I am not blaming anybody. But if the Kommandant asks why we were late, he will not want to hear about the armadillo."

"Oh, go on, Schultz," said Newkirk, nudging him gently. "You never know - he might laugh."

"He is not in a laughing mood. He is in a transferring-men-to-combat-units mood. And anyone who mentions wild animals will be first on the list." Schultz stepped back, and waved the prisoners toward the field which awaited their labour. "Everybody to work - one moment, Newkirk." He felt in the pocket of his coat. "Very clever of you. Now give it back."

"Give what back, Schultz?"

"I had your knife in my pocket, and now it is gone."

"Schultz, I haven't got it," said Newkirk. "I swear. Search me if you want to."

Schultz did so. Then he turned to Carter, who was standing next in line. "Did he give it to you, Carter?" Carter held up his hands, looking innocent. So did Kinch, who was next.

"I know someone has it," grumbled Schultz. "Now, I will count to three, and then I want whoever has it to step forward."

"Schultz, I'm telling you, I didn't take it," Newkirk insisted.

Hogan decided it was time to intervene. "Schultz, are you sure you had it with you?"

"I am sure, Colonel Hogan. I have had it in my pocket all along."

"He's just playing games with me, Colonel," said Newkirk indignantly. "They're a cruel lot, these Germans."

The colonel knew him too well to fall for it. Newkirk, recognizing that Schultz was finally starting to read his game, had simply adjusted his tactics accordingly. "Maybe it's in your other pocket, Schultz," suggested Hogan.

"It is not in my other pocket," said Schultz crossly, patting his coat with his hand. "I know it was in....uh-oh...." His face fell as he produced Newkirk's missing toy. Newkirk folded his arms and looked away.

"I don't understand how it got there," faltered Schultz. "I thought..."

"I know what you thought, Schultz. And I'm hurt. I'm hurt in my deepest feelings. I thought you trusted me," said Newkirk, refusing to meet Schultz's eyes.

"Schultz, I think you owe Newkirk an apology," said Hogan.

Schultz adopted an expression of deep contrition. "Newkirk, I am sorry." He put the knife back into his pocket, and held out his hand. "It was a terrible thing for me to think."

Newkirk did not respond, but continued to look away. "Come on, Newkirk," said Hogan. "Let's be grown-up about this. Schultz has been big enough to apologize, now you need to be generous, and let it go."

For a moment Newkirk held off, then he sighed deeply, and accepted Schultz's offered handshake. "It won't be easy, sir," he said despondently, "but I'll try to put it behind me." With his free hand he patted Schultz's shoulder. "Okay, Schultz. No hard feelings."

Schultz, a picture of remorse, moved away slowly. As soon as he was out of earshot, Hogan turned to Newkirk.

"Got it?"

"Piece of cake, sir," replied Newkirk. He was looking much more cheerful.

"Okay, gather round," Hogan drew his team aside for a moment. "The rendezvous is at a barn about half a mile away. When we break for lunch, LeBeau will go and make the pick-up. The rest of us cover for him."

"How do we get the negatives to London, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"We've got a through traveller arriving tonight, just escaped from Stalag 9. He can be the courier. For once, it's going to be simple."

The easy jobs were always the most likely to go wrong.

It was shortly before the lunch break when Hogan was sent for. He found his men gathered around Newkirk, who was down on one knee supporting an almost supine LeBeau. There was a trickle of blood from a small cut above the Frenchman's right eye.

"What happened?" asked Hogan curtly.

"Need you ask?" replied Newkirk, throwing an irate glance at Carter, who shuffled back nervously, hanging his head.

Kinch clarified the matter. "Carter had a rake over his shoulder, and turned round without looking."

"It was an accident," muttered Carter defiantly.

"It always is, with you," snapped Newkirk. "It's not so bad, Colonel. Only LeBeau turned a bit dizzy."

"I'm fine," said LeBeau, raising his head from Newkirk's shoulder. "Help me up, someone." Kinch and Newkirk raised him to his feet. He winced, and put a hand to his brow. Then, at sight of the smear of blood on his fingers, his eyes glazed over and he toppled forward into Kinch's arms in a dead faint.

"Well, this is just great," said Hogan irritably.

"There's no way he's making the rendezvous, Colonel," observed Kinch. "Who's going in his place - me or Newkirk?"

"Neither. Carter, seeing as you're the one who put LeBeau out of action, you can go, as soon as we break for lunch."

Carter sighed. "Can I take a sandwich?"

"No."

It should have taken thirty minutes at most. But an hour and a half passed, and Carter hadn't returned. Hogan was alternating between worry and rage.

"You know what he's like, Colonel," said Kinch. "He probably took a wrong turn somewhere."

Newkirk wasn't having it. "In an open field? No, he's had an accident, or run into trouble. I think I should go look for him."

Hogan frowned. "Is Schultz still asleep?"

"Good for another hour at least," replied Kinch.

"Okay, Newkirk and I will go after Carter. If we're not back before Schultz wakes up, tell him we got bored and started home on foot."

"Oh, that'll work," Kinch said under his breath. Then he added aloud, "And what do the rest of us do in the meantime, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged. "Plant potatoes. Remember, Kinch, hard work..."

"...never killed anyone," Kinch concluded, but his expression suggested he was starting to doubt it.

It took barely ten minutes to reach the barn where the meeting was to have taken place. It was deserted; no sign of the Underground contact, no sign of Carter. Newkirk's agitation was increasing exponentially, but Hogan was icily calm. "Check behind the barn," he said quietly. "I'll look around in here."

Less than a minute later, he heard Newkirk call. He hurried outside.

"He's over there, sir," said Newkirk, pointing towards a line of trees on the other side of a road beyond the fence. "Going in the wrong direction."

"What's he playing at?" murmured Hogan; then, raising his voice, "Carter!"

Carter turned, startled, but made no move towards returning. He raised one hand as if gesturing for them to be quiet, then turned back towards the trees. He seemed to be watching something.

"I'm going to have to thump him," said Newkirk, starting to climb over the fence.

As they approached, Carter looked apprehensively at the colonel. He seemed reluctant to speak.

"Carter, what the hell have you been doing?" Newkirk demanded.

"Shh!" said Carter urgently. "Don't scare it."

"Scare what?"

Carter was peering into the trees again. "I thought it had gone, but I'm sure I just saw it again."

"Carter," said Hogan, "this is no time to be wildlife spotting."

"Begging your pardon, Colonel, and with respect, sir, but I think it is," said Carter. "There - did you see it?"

"I didn't see anything, and I'm not interested. Why didn't you come straight back as instructed?"

Carter looked at him, then at Newkirk, then back at Hogan. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and looked back at the trees.

"It's a bit complicated, sir," he said at last. Then with a nervous giggle, he added, "Actually, it's kind of funny, when you think about it. It's the sort of thing that, if you tried to explain it, nobody would believe it, but..."

"Carter." Hogan didn't speak loudly, but Carter stopped in mid-sentence. "Just tell me what happened."

"Well, sir," Carter began, uncomfortably, "I arrived at the barn, and I met the agent - gosh, he's a nice man, Colonel, he reminded me of - yes, sir, I know, just get on with it - I gave him the recognition code, and he gave me the film, and I put it in my pocket, and started back."

"And?" Hogan prompted, as Carter's explanation faltered.

"Well, it's just that I forgot that there's a hole in that pocket, and when I remembered, I checked to see if the film was safe, and, well, it wasn't there. So I had to go back and look for it. And I had to come almost all the way back to the barn before I spotted it lying on the ground. But before I could get to it...well, _he_ got to it first."

"Who got to it first?" asked Newkirk.

Before Carter could reply, there was a movement among the trees. A tall, ungainly form, long in the neck, long in the legs, emerged onto the road, and stood looking down on the three men with a supercilious expression.

"Now, there's something you don't see every day," said Newkirk, as soon as he recovered the power of speech.

Hogan just stared. Vaguely, he was aware that Carter was speaking.

"Colonel, about the film - the ostrich ate it. Sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean, the ostrich ate it?"

Carter cringed at the tone of Hogan's voice. "He just sort of pecked it up and swallowed it. I couldn't get to it in time."

"Oh, that's brilliant," said Newkirk. "Well done. Now what do we do?"

"Well, I guess it'll come out, some time. Out the other end," added Carter, just to make things quite clear. "That's why I thought I'd better keep an eye on him, until he...well, you know."

Newkirk turned to the colonel. "Looks like he's found his calling. Following an ostrich around, waiting for it to..."

"I suppose you've got a better idea," Carter interrupted.

"Quiet, both of you," said Hogan sharply. "Carter, even if you're right, the film will be wrecked."

"But, Colonel, it was in a container. A metal container. So it should just go straight through."

"And how do you figure that, Andrew?" asked Newkirk, in a dangerously calm voice.

"I swallowed a quarter when I was six. I got it back, eventually," replied Carter.

"It doesn't follow, Carter. You're not an ostrich. They work differently. There could be anything going on in there."

"Carter, Newkirk's right," Hogan added. "Chances are the film's gone for good."

Carter's face fell. He looked down at his feet. "Guess I really messed up today, didn't I?"

"It's been a pretty impressive achievement, Carter," Hogan answered, forestalling the more emphatic response Newkirk was about to utter. He pondered for a minute, watching the huge bird, which gazed back with sublime dignity. "On the other hand, let's say the film does survive, and comes to light, and someone finds it."

"Good luck to them, I say," muttered Newkirk.

"No, we can't risk it. It could tip off the Germans, and maybe put the Underground cell at risk," said Hogan decisively. "We need to find out more about the ostrich's digestive system, and in the meantime we need to keep this bird under observation. Carter, for the next twenty-four hours, you follow that ostrich, and if it passes anything at all, you have a good look at it."

Carter grimaced, but took it well. "Yes, Colonel."

"Sir, request permission to tell you you're out of your mind," Newkirk broke out.

"Permission refused," said Hogan curtly.

Newkirk persisted. "But you can't send him off like this. What are you going to tell Schultz? Let alone he'll miss at least two roll-calls."

"We'll cover for him, somehow. We've done it before. Anything else?"

"Colonel," Newkirk went on, lowering his voice, "that bird could wander almost anywhere. And you know what Carter's sense of direction is like. He'd never find his way back."

"I know," Hogan replied. "That's why you're going with him."

"Come again?" said Newkirk, after a pause.

"You're going along. Your job is to see that Carter turns back after twenty-four hours, to find the way back to camp, and to look after that damn film so he doesn't lose it again."

"Colonel, if you think I'm chasing a bloody ostrich round the countryside..." Newkirk began. He broke off at the look he received from Hogan; glanced at Carter, then at the ostrich, which seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and was surveying the landscape as if it owned the whole of Germany. Newkirk suppressed his protest, and muttered, "Yes, sir."

"So glad you see it my way, Newkirk," said Hogan. "Be careful - don't get caught, if you can help it." He headed off, back towards the potato field.

"Hear that?" said Newkirk to the ostrich. "We're not to get caught. So don't you go wandering through town, right?"

The ostrich raised its head, gave him a contemptuous look, and shook out its feathers.

"I don't think he cares what you say, Newkirk," murmured Carter.

Hogan was infuriated with Carter, but at the back of his mind an imp of mischief was imagining the expression on Kinch's face when he heard what had happened. The imp was not disappointed.

"You're joking, right?" said Kinch, once he got his breath back.

"Wish I was. Why is it always Carter that this stuff happens to?"

"Some guys just have a real talent for it," Kinch agreed. "But this beats everything. How do we cover for them?"

Hogan folded his arms, thinking. "Getting on the truck shouldn't be difficult. We'll just have some of the guys pull the old twice-round routine. Roll-call is going to be tricky. Better if we can miss it altogether, so we need to be late getting there - very late. And I don't think we can depend on the armadillo again. I'd better go check on LeBeau, and while I'm at it, I'll just let one of the tyres down. That should buy some time while I think of something else."

"We can't be too late. Don't forget we've got the RAF pilot from Stalag 9 coming in tonight," said Kinch.

Hogan shook his head. "It just never stops, does it? Okay. It'll be close, but we should be able to manage it."

LeBeau had been sleeping off his headache in the back of the truck. He was awake now, and looking much brighter. "Did Carter make the pick-up?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," replied Hogan. "He did that, all right."

LeBeau jumped down from the truck. "Something went wrong," he guessed. "He lost the film, didn't he?"

"Not exactly." Hogan began letting the air out of one of the rear tyres. "He knows where it is."

LeBeau listened without interrupting while Hogan gave him the story. When the ostrich entered the narrative, his lips began twitching, and by the time Hogan finished he was laughing so much that he couldn't stay upright, but slid to the ground, leaning against the wheel of the lorry.

"Okay, it's funny, but it's not that funny," Hogan told him, with a rueful smile.

"_Mais il n'y a que Carter qui pourrait..._" LeBeau choked, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "_Mon Colonel_, I would give anything - anything at all - to have seen Newkirk's face."

Hogan had to struggle to control his own amusement at the image that called forth. "I'm sorry I missed it, too," he admitted. "LeBeau, stop laughing. This is serious."

LeBeau made an effort, and composed his features into an appropriately sober expression, although his right-side dimple was still in evidence. "What are we doing about roll-call?" he asked. His voice only shook a little.

"If we work it right, we can be late enough to miss evening roll-call. Schultz won't want to go to a lot of trouble, he'll just do a head-count when we arrive at camp. We can fiddle that easily enough. The flat tyre should delay things a bit, but we may need another diversion on the way home."

"And tomorrow morning?" asked LeBeau.

"Please, LeBeau. One crisis at a time."

The first part of the plan worked perfectly. The flat tyre in itself would only have cost them half an hour, but by the time it had been changed by no fewer than six men, all getting in each other's way, dropping wheel nuts and losing them in the darkness, and letting the jack collapse at intervals, they were well behind schedule. Schultz had progressed from flustered to totally confused, so that he didn't notice when two of the men, boarding the truck, slipped out of the side tarpaulin and came round a second time.

Just as he was heading for the cabin, however, he suddenly halted, and returned to the back of the lorry.

"Colonel Hogan," he said, "Newkirk did not get on the truck. Neither did Carter."

"Sure they did, Schultz. They're right in there with the other men."

Schultz peered into the crowded interior. "I don't see them. Newkirk, are you in there?"

Hogan tensed, his mind working rapidly, but someone else had it covered. "Course I'm here, Schultz. Where else would I bleedin' well be?"

For a moment, Hogan wondered how Newkirk had got back from ostrich surveillance. Then he realised who it was. _We're not paying Kinch enough,_ he thought. _I gotta get him a promotion._

"And is Carter there too?" Schultz persisted.

"He's right here," Kinch replied, still in character. "Aren't you, Carter?...See, Schultz? All present and accounted for. Now can we get moving? The bedbugs will be getting restless if we're late."

"You heard the man, Schultz," said Hogan cheerfully. "Mustn't keep the bugs waiting."

As they set off, Hogan glanced at his watch. "Eight o'clock. We should reach camp by ten. An extra half-hour would be handy. Any ideas?" There was a long silence.

"I have one, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau reluctantly, "but can we give the armadillo a chance first?"

Forty minutes later, it was clear the armadillo was not making a return appearance. Hogan turned to LeBeau, who had been looking increasingly unhappy. "Okay, LeBeau. Looks like we go with your plan. Kinch, tell Schultz to stop the truck. Make it sound urgent."

Kinch leaned forward. "Schultz!" he shouted. "Pull over. Quick!"

The truck veered slightly, swung to the side of the road and came to a halt with a jerk. LeBeau squeezed past the other men, jumped to the ground and ran over to the fence which separated the road from a stand of trees. Leaning against a fence post, he took up an attitude of suffering.

Schultz came round to the back of the truck. "What is the matter?" he demanded.

"LeBeau felt nauseous," said Hogan. "What with hitting his head earlier, and the rough ride - you shouldn't drive so fast, Schultz, speeding doesn't save time in the long run - I think he's got a little motion sickness."

He was striding towards LeBeau as he spoke, while Schultz scuttled behind him. LeBeau looked up as they approached.

"_Pardon, Colonel,_" he murmured feebly. "I thought I was going to be sick."

"Do you feel faint, LeBeau?" Hogan asked, putting a hand on LeBeau's shoulder.

"_Un peu, oui_. Maybe if I rest for a few minutes..." LeBeau closed his eyes, and pressed his hand against his mouth.

"LeBeau, we have no time for this," said Schultz. "We are already late for roll-call. Kommandant Klink will be furious."

"Oh, come on, Schultz," Hogan replied. "He just needs a bit of a break."

"Please, Colonel Hogan, you will get me into trouble. I am sorry for LeBeau, but he will have to put up with it," said Schultz. "Unless he is actually going to be sick, he must get back into the truck at once."

LeBeau glanced up at Hogan, and gave a tiny nod, and a roll of his eyes in Schultz's direction. Hogan, reading the message, turned to Schultz, and drew him aside.

"Listen, Schultz," he said, "I know that somewhere in that great German bulk of yours there beats a kindly and compassionate heart. It's not much we're asking for, just a couple of minutes for LeBeau to pull himself together. He did take a nasty knock earlier, you know."

He was keeping one eye on LeBeau, who, unseen by Schultz, was pressing his thumb hard into the base of his throat. The effect was prompt; LeBeau suddenly made a curious choking noise, and threw up.

"Now see what you've done, Schultz," Hogan snapped. "Someone get some water, quick."

As he ran back to LeBeau's side, and supported him until the spasm ended, the thought came to him that maybe they weren't paying LeBeau enough, either.


	4. Chapter 4

Carter was forming an attachment to the ostrich. He had started calling it Charlie, having detected in the bird's gangly frame some vague resemblance to one of his cousins who had that name. Charlie showed no sign of answering to that or any other appellation, or of returning either Carter's incipient affection, or Newkirk's unconcealed hostility. He merely tolerated their presence, while making a slow, regal progress along the narrow dirt road, pausing now and then to investigate some potentially edible item along the way.

"At least he's not in a hurry," said Carter after a while.

Newkirk didn't say a word. He had hardly spoken since Hogan had left them. Carter occasionally made a nervously placatory remark, but Newkirk continued to stalk along in silence.

They had been following Charlie for a couple of hours, with no result, and so meandering had his course been, that neither Carter nor Newkirk was quite sure any more where they were. Carter was philosophical about it; getting lost was all in the normal day's routine as far as he was concerned. But he was worried about the task ahead of him.

"What if it takes longer than twenty-four hours to work its way out?" he asked, after a long period of thought.

Newkirk finally condescended to speak. "Too bad if it does. Three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, we turn back, ostrich droppings or no ostrich droppings."

Further silence.

"What are we going to put it in, when we get it?" said Carter.

Newkirk stopped in the middle of the road, and glared at him. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Well, the colonel did say you were to take charge of it," Carter pointed out.

"No. Not a chance, Carter. I'm having no part of it. You can just wrap it in your handkerchief, and hang on to it." Newkirk put his hands in his pockets, and went after Charlie.

Carter sighed. He was used to Newkirk being mad at him at times, but this was going on longer than usual. With no alternative, he set off, following his companions, but he didn't try to catch up. He could only accept the cold-shoulder treatment for a limited time; his supply of meekness was starting to run out.

The sun was getting low, and the temperature started to drop as nightfall approached. Charlie came to a standstill, gazing around in a meditative fashion. Carter came up beside Newkirk, and they both watched the bird for a while.

"I'm really hungry," murmured Carter. "I didn't get any lunch."

"And whose fault was that?"

"Yeah, I know."

Newkirk glanced at him. "Maybe your friend over there will lay an egg for you."

Charlie, being a male, did not lay an egg. He stood quietly for a while, as if deep in contemplation; then, without warning or fuss, he delivered the package they had been waiting for.

"Wow," said Carter, recovering from his initial astonishment. "There's a lot of it, isn't there?"

"Well, he's not exactly a canary, you know" replied Newkirk. "Go and have a look, then. No, don't you look at me like that, Carter. I'm not the one that let the ostrich get at the ruddy film, am I?"

"Okay, I know." Carter hesitated, regarding the pile without enthusiasm. "I think it's too soon for what we want," he went on. "I'm sure it takes longer than that for anything to get all the way..."

"Andrew," Newkirk interrupted ruthlessly, "get over there and look for that film. Now."

Carter took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and advanced. He stopped well back, stood on his toes and leaned forward. "Can't see anything," he called back.

"Do it properly," said Newkirk.

Carter, looking as if he felt very hard done by, retreated to the roadside, found a stick to help him with his investigation, and returned to the matter at hand.

"It's not here," he said eventually, in a tight voice.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should look again." Newkirk was almost starting to enjoy himself. Almost.

"It's not here," repeated Carter through gritted teeth. He dropped the stick, and stepped back. "The good news is, I'm not hungry any more."

"Just as well," observed Newkirk, "because I don't see us getting anything to eat tonight. Come on, he's off again."

Charlie was just visible in the gathering dusk, as he proceeded on his way. He left the road, and set off along the edge of a field bordered by a sparse growth of bushes.

"Marvellous. As if we weren't lost enough already," muttered Newkirk. However, the ostrich did not go far off the road. He stopped by a narrow brook, looking mildly affronted at its presence on his chosen path; then followed the stream a little way into the woods. Reaching a clearing which appeared to please him, he surveyed his surroundings, then with a great deal of delicate manoeuvring, he gradually folded his legs underneath him, and lowered his body to the ground.

Carter sat with his back against a tree trunk. "Looks like it's his bedtime," he observed. "I'm with him. Boy, am I tired." He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

Newkirk remained standing, thinking through the situation. It had been a long, hard day, one way and another, and they were both in need of a meal. He was still annoyed, but it didn't extend to allowing Carter to go hungry all night and most of tomorrow. "Is he settled for the night, then? I might go and do a bit of foraging. There's a farmhouse just across the fields; I'll just pay them a little visit, see what I can pick up."

"What if Charlie starts wandering again?" asked Carter. "You'd never find us in the dark. Maybe we should stay together."

Newkirk glanced at the ostrich, who had now laid his neck and head on the ground in front of him, and appeared to be asleep. "I don't think he's going anywhere. I won't be gone long."

The moon was just rising, giving him enough light to see his way. There was a chill in the air; Newkirk anticipated a hard frost before morning, and his heart sank at the thought of being out all night.

He could see no light in the farmhouse as he approached. It appeared nobody was home, or else the place was abandoned. _I wonder if we could get that bird over here, _he thought. At least they'd be out of the cold.

A quick reconnaissance changed his mind. The house was clean and well-maintained, and smoke could be seen issuing from the chimneys. It was occupied, all right. The residents were not there, which made his job easier, but they might be back at any time, so he had to be quick. He found a suitable unsecured window, and let himself in.

Half an hour later he was on his way back, supplied with bread, cheese, some apples and a bottle of red wine which he suspected was home-made. He hesitated, unsure of his direction for a moment, but he found the stream and followed it to the clearing. Charlie was still there, a solid feather-covered hump on the ground; and Carter had fallen asleep as well, curled up against the base of the tree. He looked so peaceful, for someone who could so effortlessly create such chaos within so little time, that Newkirk's irritation faded. _Poor old Andrew,_ he thought. _He doesn't do it on purpose._

He found a comfortable patch of ground for himself, and sat down to wait for morning. It was very quiet, apart from some odd internal noises from Charlie and an occasional sleepy mutter from Carter. Newkirk considered waking him, but didn't have the heart. He ate some bread and cheese, and put the rest of the food aside for later.

It was hard to keep his eyes open. They were accustomed to night missions, but usually there was something to do, something to keep the adrenaline running. Just sitting around, waiting for Charlie to complete his digestive process, didn't encourage wakefulness.

Newkirk realised he was drowsing, and roused himself impatiently. This wouldn't do. He got up, and began pacing back and forth in the darkness. Then he stopped, suddenly very much awake.

He had heard something moving through the bushes, deeper within the woods. Something big. He edged over towards where the noise had come from, peering into the darkness. There was nothing to be seen, but he was sure he hadn't imagined it.

Charlie heard it, too. He raised his head, gazing in the same direction as Newkirk, then rose to his feet with surprising grace. He paced forward, stopped, then unexpectedly issued a loud, low-pitched throbbing sound from deep within his chest. Carter woke with a start.

"What..?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Quiet!" murmured Newkirk, without turning.

Charlie repeated the same call again, and ruffled his feathers. He didn't look so preposterous any more. Without intending to, Newkirk found himself moving away, almost as unnerved by the ostrich as by whatever was among the trees.

There was no sound for almost a minute; then, again, the rustle and cracking of a large body pushing through the undergrowth. Newkirk took a step back, but whatever it was, it was retreating.

Carter was standing just behind him. "You know, if that's what LeBeau heard, he could be right," he said. "That's definitely not a squirrel."


	5. Chapter 5

Kinch emerged from the tunnel to join Hogan and LeBeau at the foot of the emergency exit ladder.

"London are looking for someone who knows about ostriches," he said. "They'll radio back in an hour. Baker's minding the store in case we don't get back in time."

"What did they say about it?" asked Hogan, who was still looking through the periscope, checking that the coast was clear.

"Not much," replied Kinch. "I think they were lost for words. But they guessed who was involved. Looks like they're starting to get it about Carter."

Hogan didn't even acknowledge that, but his lips thinned. No matter how angry he might be with any of his men, let anyone else so much as hint at criticism and it made him furious. He changed the subject. "Did you get on to our people in Hammelburg about finding out which animals are still missing from the zoo?"

"Not yet. Baker's going to keep trying."

LeBeau gave a scornful laugh. "It might be easier to ask them which ones are _not_ missing. I'm sure the list will be shorter."

"Colonel, you're really worried about this, aren't you?" said Kinch.

Hogan lowered the periscope. "Yeah, it was funny when it was just meerkats and penguins, but if they can overlook an ostrich - an _ostrich_, for Pete's sake! - it makes me wonder what else is still out there."

"Is that why we're all going tonight?"

"Well, it can't hurt to be careful. And if there are any carnivores, we can throw 'em LeBeau, and while they're busy with him, we make a run for it."

LeBeau grimaced at him, uttered a few choice French phrases in a prudent _sotto voce_, and started up the ladder.

It was now some hours since moonrise, and getting out of the tree stump exit required care if they weren't to be seen. LeBeau went first, then the colonel; then a momentary pause, as they both dropped to the ground to avoid the spotlight from the guard tower. As soon as it passed, Kinch joined them, and they slipped away to meet their new arrival.

The previous night's experience had unsettled LeBeau, and he was unusually jumpy. His nervousness was contagious; even Kinch was on edge, and Hogan found himself more aware than usual of sounds and movement amongst the trees. It was a relief to reach the rendezvous point.

Hogan might have had some idea in mind of substituting the arriving airman for either Newkirk or Carter at roll-call, to reduce the amount of effort needed to fool the guards. It took only a few seconds to realise that it was not likely to work, not on Schultz, anyway. Captain Outhwaite was almost as short as LeBeau, and built like a barrel with legs; how he was able to fit into a cockpit, and once in, how he managed to reach the rudder control, was anyone's guess. There was not the slightest chance that he could be passed off as either of the absentees, unless another distraction could be found to divert the guards' attention.

Unlike many of their visitors, he was unruffled by the prospect of escaping into a prison camp. That might have been because he was preoccupied with other matters.

"Very interesting wildlife you have around these parts, old boy," he remarked, as they made their way back to the tunnel entrance. "Very interesting indeed. I thought I was back in the antipodes for a while there. I worked on a sheep station in Australia for a year, you know."

"We like to keep our visitors guessing," replied Hogan. "It's all part of the package."

LeBeau, forgetful of the difference in rank, tugged at Outhwaite's sleeve.

"I say, my dear fellow, do be careful," the captain remonstrated. "These are the only clothes I have."

"Sorry, _capitaine_. I just wanted to ask what you saw," said LeBeau.

Outhwaite shook his head with a laugh. "It was quite a surprise. You know, they're normally quite timid, but this one has been following me for a while. Rather disconcerting, really. I don't think it's alone, either."

Hogan, who was leading, turned his head. "What was it, Outhwaite?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, it was...look, it's just over there," said Outhwaite, pointing towards a gap in the trees. There seemed to be nothing there but bushes, until one of the bushes shifted, and a solidly-built form, silver-grey in the silver light, came into view. It advanced awkwardly, crouching on short forepaws, then rose on its hind legs and hopped forward.

"Well, I'll be...we've got kangaroos, Colonel," said Kinch, with a slow, wondering smile.

LeBeau was not so pleased. "You mean, that's all it was? I can't believe I was that scared of an oversized rat with a pouch."

"Several oversized rats," Hogan said, as another couple of marsupials emerged. The first one had approached Outhwaite, who held out a hand as if greeting a puppy.

"They're quite tame," he said. "Escaped from somewhere, I expect." The kangaroo grabbed his hand with its front paws, and nuzzled his fingers. "I think they're used to being hand-fed."

"The local zoo," Hogan told him. "Their cages turned out not to be bombproof." He was watching the animals with an expression that Kinch knew well.

"What's on your mind, Colonel?" he asked.

Hogan smiled, and his left eyebrow went up. "Gentlemen," he said, "I think we just found our diversion for morning roll-call."

Rounding up the kangaroos turned out to be something of a challenge. There were eight or nine of them, plus an albino wallaby that looked like a small ghost among its larger grey companions. They may have been relatively tame, but they weren't very intelligent, and every time one of them turned skittish, the others scattered as well.

The biggest of them made a break to the side. "Head him off, Kinch," said Hogan quickly, and Kinch ran to outflank the animal. In the open, he would have had no hope of outrunning it, but among the trees they couldn't bound off so easily. This one came to a halt, raised itself to its full height, and tried to stare Kinch down. Kinch stared back, wondering if he looked as ridiculous as he felt.

"Be careful, chaps," Outhwaite called. "They can do some damage if they attack."

It was LeBeau who finally came up with the idea of coaxing them. He gathered a handful of grass and waved it at the little white wallaby. The strategy was more effective than he expected; within moments, he was mobbed, vanishing with a startled squawk as all of the kangaroos descended on him. Hogan quickly followed his example, and drew some of them off.

"Kinch, you and Outhwaite bring up the rear, in case they bolt again," said Hogan quietly. "And try to keep the noise down. We're close to home, and we don't want to be heard."

LeBeau was getting more tetchy by the moment, as the kangaroos surrounded him again. Several of them, standing upright, were taller than him. "You know how I deal with giant rabbits?" he said to them. "One word. Fricassee."

They waited at the edge of the trees until the coast was clear. "Okay, Kinch," murmured Hogan. "Go and raise the wire, and we'll get them into the compound and shut them in the motor pool till morning."

Kinch crept across to the section of fence that had been rigged to open by sliding upwards, and the others drove their flock inside the camp, and secured them for the night inside the motor pool enclosure.

"It's a good thing Carter's not here," said Kinch, after they had made their cautious way back to the safety of the barracks. "He'd want to keep that little one."

"Don't even talk about it," Hogan replied. "I already have a horrible feeling he's going to bond with the ostrich."

"I hope they're okay," Kinch went on. "It's getting pretty cold out, and they don't have any food or water."

"Newkirk will think of something. Or break into somewhere," said Hogan. "Outhwaite, you can sleep in Carter's bunk - that one there. Kinch, LeBeau - tunnel."

Baker looked up as they entered the radio room. "I've just heard from London, Colonel." He didn't look as if he was happy with the result.

"Did they find us an ostrich expert?" asked Hogan.

"Are you kidding? They found three. The ostrich keeper at the London Zoo, an ornithologist in Leeds, and some guy who farms them in South America."

"Oh, great," murmured Hogan. "So we got three different opinions, right?"

"Yep. The only thing they agree on is that it's plausible the ostrich would have eaten the film. Seems they swallow pebbles and small stones, up to about that size, and keep them in their gizzard to help with digestion. It probably got confused - they aren't that bright."

"So what happens once it's in there?"

Baker shrugged. "The ornithologist says the bird's stomach acid will dissolve the container and the film. He's not absolutely certain how that will affect the ostrich, but he's pretty sure the silver nitrate in the film will poison it."

"Oops. Carter's not going to like that," observed Kinch.

"It doesn't get better," Baker went on. "The zookeeper thinks that the cylinder will survive the acid, but will be crushed by the gizzard stones, which means the film still gets digested and the bird still dies. And the guy from Argentina says that it'll pass right through the stomach, but might get stuck in the small intestine, and...yeah, it's still not looking good for the ostrich. Or the film."

Hogan pondered for a moment. "Okay, looks like the film's a write-off. Any news about the animal situation?"

"Not yet. I spoke to Max in Hammelburg, he'll make some enquiries and get back to us tomorrow."

"_Mon Colonel_," LeBeau said hesitantly, "are you sure they will be alright? If there is anything else out there..."

"There's not much we can do about it now," Hogan replied. "We don't know where they are. But they know how to take care of themselves." He read the silence that greeted this, and amended accordingly. "Okay, Newkirk knows how to take care of himself. Probably so does the ostrich. Between them, they should be able to look after Carter."

Hogan could take the optimistic line all he wanted, but none of them slept well that night. It took the edge of their appreciation of how well morning assembly went; which is to say, very well, or very badly, depending on one's point of view. The sight of Klink, backing away in the direction of his office, screaming for Schultz at the top of his voice, while being pursued by one of the smaller kangaroos, was something that Hogan would probably treasure among his memories, once all this was over.

The ensuing mayhem had gone on for so long that, when order was finally restored, and the marsupials had been rounded up and returned to the motor pool, they had got away with just a head count. Schultz had been so muddled that he hadn't even noticed Outhwaite standing in Newkirk's spot, and with a little encouragement had got his counting wrong, thereby overlooking Carter's absence altogether.

An hour later, the news got worse.

Kinch, looking worried, and holding a sheet of paper, came into Hogan's quarters, where the colonel was looking on as LeBeau took measurements for Outhwaite's civilian clothes.

"Max has just been in contact. He got us a list of which exhibits are still closed, which probably means the animals are still at large."

Hogan scanned the list. "Okay, we know about the armadillo, and the penguins...does anyone know what a capybara is?" His voice trailed off as he reached the end of the list. His expression sobered, and he murmured, "Oh, no."

"What is it?" asked LeBeau.

"We were right," Hogan said. "There is something else. And it's worse than I thought. Apparently they haven't yet accounted for their Siberian tiger."


	6. Chapter 6

"_Oh, Dieu_," murmured LeBeau, going pale and dropping the tape measure.

"Oh, I say, that's jolly bad luck," added Outhwaite. "Nasty brutes, tigers."

LeBeau went on, ignoring the Englishman. "What are we going to do? We can't leave them out there."

As Kinch started to speak, Hogan held up a hand for silence. "There's only one thing we can do. I'll have to report to Klink that Carter and Newkirk are missing. With any luck, the search parties might find them before the tiger does."

"You said it yourself, Colonel" said Kinch quietly. "We don't know where they are. What are the odds that a search party will ever find them?"

"Kinch, you know how I hate it when you're right," Hogan sighed. "But I'm out of ideas. We can't go looking for them ourselves, so the next best thing is to get the Krauts to look instead." He rubbed the back of his neck, as he usually did when deeply troubled. "I don't seen any way out. Unless..." He stopped, struck by another idea.

"Unless what?" asked Kinch.

"Unless we get the Krauts to look for the tiger," murmured Hogan thoughtfully. "That might work even better. A couple of escaped prisoners is one thing, but a Siberian tiger will really get them going. The zoo will be sending someone to pick up the kangaroos. We just have to give them a hint."

It was mid-morning when the men from the zoo arrived. Hogan waited till the lorry had stopped in front of the motor pool, then nodded to Kinch and LeBeau, who were on clean-up patrol. They casually made their way in that direction and once they were within range, the performance began.

"No, don't start that again, LeBeau," said Kinch. "There's no way. No way."

"I tell you, it was there. Just outside the wire," LeBeau replied with heat. "It was looking right at me. Are you calling me a liar?"

"No, I'm saying it wasn't what you thought. Maybe one of the dogs got out."

"One of the dogs! You think I can't tell the difference between a German Shepherd and a tiger?"

"Louis, when you get overexcited I wouldn't trust you to tell the difference between Goering and Shirley Temple. And you never saw a tiger here, because we both know the tiger's on the other side of Hammelburg. I saw it yesterday while we were working there."

"Then it must have followed us back."

"Yeah, sure it did. Why don't you try that on the Kommandant? 'Please, sir, it followed us home. Can we keep it?' He'll love that."

"Kinch - LeBeau." Schultz came to intervene. "What are you shouting about? You will frighten the kangaroos away, and then we will have to chase them again."

"It's just LeBeau, Schultz," said Kinch, with a skeptical smile. "He says he saw a tiger this morning."

"I did see a tiger. Right over there, between the guard towers," insisted LeBeau.

The head zookeeper, a thin, bald man with a Hitler moustache, came at a rush. "You saw the tiger? Here?"

Kinch and LeBeau both started talking at once. Schultz waved his arms, stamped his feet, and bellowed, "Quiet!"

"Careful, Schultz," said Hogan, strolling up. "Don't scare the kangaroos." He regarded the animals with a meditative smile, then sent a quizzical look at LeBeau, who blushed, and looked self-conscious.

"Sorry," murmured Schultz, with an apologetic glance at the zookeeper. That gentleman, however, was no longer interested in the kangaroos.

"I must call the zoo at once," he said. "Where is the Kommandant?"

"I think he's in his office, " said Hogan. Klink had not been seen outside since the roll-call fiasco.

The zookeeper, wildly excited, gestured at LeBeau and Kinch. "I will speak to him. Bring these men." And he was off, scurrying towards the Kommandantur. Hogan grinned, and indicated for his men to follow. Schultz remained behind, determined to ensure the kangaroos didn't make a run for it.

Colonel Klink had not yet recovered his equilibrium, and he almost jumped through the ceiling when the zookeeper burst into his office, babbling incoherently about tigers. Hogan stood back, watching with enjoyment. For once, someone else was confusing the hell out of Klink; he'd never realised before how much fun it was to look on.

It took several attempts before Klink was able to stem the flow; and he had to resort to shouting to make any impression at all. "Silence!" he yelled. The zookeeper stopped in mid-phrase, blinking. "Who are you?" Klink demanded querulously.

"Hans Koch, from the Hammelburg Zoological Garden," replied the zookeeper briskly.

"Ah. You've come for the kangaroos," said Klink. "Excellent. Please take them away at once."

Koch waved his hands wildly. "Never mind the kangaroos. You can keep the kangaroos."

"I beg your pardon?" Klink's eyes bulged, and his monocle wobbled.

"Who cares about kangaroos?" Koch went on. "But the Siberian tiger - we must get the tiger back. It's impossible to get another one."

"Well, that's what you get for declaring war on Russia," said Hogan.

Klink didn't even hear him. That one word had hypnotized him. "Tiger? What tiger?"

"This man saw our tiger." Koch grabbed LeBeau's arm and dragged him forward.

"That's true, Kommandant," said LeBeau, shaking off Koch's grip. "It was in the bushes, just outside the fence."

"No, it wasn't," Kinch put in. "I told you, LeBeau. It's the other side of Hammelburg, at the potato farm."

LeBeau turned on him, bursting into a torrent of rapid angry French, to which Kinch responded with a calm condescension that roused his opponent to fury. Hogan had to intervene, before LeBeau got so wound up that he forgot why they were there. "Okay, men, settle down. Sorry, Kommandant. They just got carried away. It's not every day they see a tiger."

LeBeau, brought up short, subsided, but Koch was too agitated to pay any heed. "Kommandant, there is no time to lose. You must send your guards out to look for our tiger in your woods. I will call the zoo and have more men sent out to the other location."

Klink was up in arms at once. "Herr Koch, my guards are here to guard the prisoners, not to look for lost cats. We have already had far too much disruption to our routine as a result of your failure to keep your animals contained. I'm afraid I must refuse your request."

"But, Kommandant, this is a matter of the utmost importance. That tiger is one of our most valuable specimens."

"Dangerous, too, I expect," added Hogan. "If it got into the camp..."

Klink went pale, and the monocle dropped out altogether. "Don't be ridiculous, Hogan," he stammered, with an attempt to maintain his self-possession. "How could it possibly get past the wire?"

"Well, sir," replied Hogan affably, "I've heard cats are good at climbing."

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but Klink went even paler. He dashed to the door, shouting for Schultz. Within a few minutes, the whole Stalag was in uproar, as the guards hastened to the tiger hunt. Koch was running around, almost hysterical, ordering them not to shoot his precious tiger. It seemed improbable, if faced with the creature, that they would bear his instructions in mind.

The prisoners were ordered back to the barracks. Half an hour later, as Hogan came out of his office, he noticed someone missing. "Kinch, where's LeBeau?"

Kinch glanced up from the book he was reading. "Don't know, Colonel." He was wearing his best poker face, which was a dead giveaway. Hogan regarded him with a smile, head tilted on one side. Kinch looked sideways at him once or twice, then gave in with a sigh. "Recreation hall."

It was unusually quiet in the compound, with the prisoners confined to barracks and only a skeleton guard left on duty, so Hogan had no trouble getting to the recreation hall without being seen. He wasn't surprised by what he found inside.

"Okay, LeBeau," he said, folding his arms. "Please tell me you're not fattening him up for dinner."

LeBeau looked embarrassed, but kept feeding lettuce leaves to the little white wallaby. "It's a she, _mon Colonel_." Hogan didn't say a word, but waited for the explanation he knew was coming. Finally, LeBeau said, "The other ones were picking on her."

"LeBeau, you know we can't keep her."

"I know. But maybe just for a few days?"

"You're as bad as Carter," said Hogan. "Okay, till the end of the week. Then she goes back." He sat down on the nearest chair, and started stroking the wallaby's ears; she shook her head, and nibbled at the lettuce. Definitely not too bright, but somehow engaging. A bit like Carter, really. Hogan started to understand why LeBeau had adopted her.

He changed the subject. "How are you going with Outhwaite's wardrobe?"

LeBeau scowled. "It'd be easier to fit the ostrich."

"He's got to be ready by tomorrow night. Can you get it done?"

"Maybe, if Newkirk gets back in time to help." LeBeau offered another leaf to the wallaby. "_Mon Colonel_, I'm worried about them."

"Me, too," Hogan admitted. "But we've done all we can."

He gave the wallaby's soft head a final caress, and got up, with an unconscious sigh. "I just wish we knew where they were," he said. "Or where that tiger was."


	7. Chapter 7

"Newkirk? Are you awake?"

Newkirk stirred, uttering a low drowsy groan, and opened his eyes, then put his hand over them to shield them from the bright morning sun.

"Carter...?" he mumbled.

Carter squatted next to him. He was eating an apple. "Morning, Newkirk. How'd you sleep?" he said indistinctly.

Newkirk sat up, slowly. "Like I always sleep, when I'm out of doors, lying on the ground, in freezing weather." He gave Carter a baleful, red-rimmed glare. "Where's the ostrich?"

"Over at the stream, drinking. He's been," added Carter. "Still no film. You know, Newkirk, I don't think he's very well. It was...well, sort of runny. Say, do you think maybe he digested it, and it's bad for him? There's some pretty nasty stuff in photographic film."

"Carter, I have no idea," replied Newkirk dourly. "And between you and me, I don't give a tinker's." He looked at his watch. "We still got another eight hours of it. If I last that long."

"Could be worse," said Carter. "At least it's not raining." He took another bite. "It's a shame there's nothing left but apples."

"There is. There should be, anyway."

Carter gave him an apologetic look. "Charlie ate the rest of the bread. And all the cheese as well. I guess that's not going to do him much good, either."

Newkirk, flabbergasted, stared at him; then he scrambled to his feet. "Where is he? I'll wring his ruddy neck."

"Well, you shouldn't have left it where he could get at it," said Carter reasonably, entirely oblivious to the irony of the statement, given what he'd left lying around for the ostrich to ingest.

"Don't you say one more word, Carter. Else after I finish with that overgrown feather duster, you'll be next," Newkirk snapped.

He strode off towards Charlie, who was watching them with what Newkirk interpreted as a kind of smug paternalism. "Right, you. Let's just get a few things straight." Charlie gaped, and looked bored.

"Aw, Newkirk, don't pick on him. He didn't know any better," Carter pointed out. "And anyway, he scared off whatever was in the woods last night. So don't be mad at him." He regarded the ostrich with affection. "He's practically part of the team."

The worst had happened. Carter and the ostrich had formed a relationship.

The day didn't get any better. Although the sun was shining, it remained cold among the trees. Charlie had apparently decided that he felt at home where he was, and they spent almost the entire morning in the clearing. It was too close to the farmhouse he had visited the evening before for Newkirk to feel comfortable about it. In between worrying about that, he spent his time wondering what it was that had disturbed them in the night. Carter didn't think about it; he was too busy fretting over the ostrich.

"He just doesn't look happy," he said. "I mean, I don't think he looks sick, but how would I know what a sick ostrich looks like? But he's not himself at all - well, I suppose I don't know him that well, but he seemed different yesterday. And it's not like we can take him to the vet, can we?"

Newkirk reached for the wine. "I hate to start this early in the day," he muttered, "but I can't take much more of this."

He took a swig, then choked, and spat it out. "Cor blimey!"

"Bad, is it?" said Carter.

It took several seconds for Newkirk to get his breath back. "Like ninety-year-old turpentine, with a hint of dead rat." He jammed the cork back into the bottle and tossed it into the stream. "If that's what they're making at home, it's no bloody wonder they invaded France."

Towards noon, Charlie got restless, and before long they were on the move again. The ostrich, following a narrow unsealed road, kept to the fringes of the wood, which extended beyond the flat river plain to cover the surrounding hills. As they ascended, the sun was intermittently masked by low, slow-moving clouds, and the ensuing gloom was disheartening.

"Only another hour," said Newkirk, as they reached a break in the trees overlooking the valley, and paused for a moment. "Then all we have to do is find our way back to Stalag 13, get inside before roll-call, and tell the governor that we didn't get the film back. And you can handle that part, Carter."

Carter was not listening. "I hate leaving him on his own," he murmured. "Especially since the weather's turning bad. I guess we couldn't take him back with us, could we?" Newkirk didn't even look at him, let alone answer. Carter sighed, and turned to follow the ostrich.

Newkirk remained where he was, studying the landscape. There was something very familiar about it, though he knew he'd never seen it from this vantage point. He picked out a landmark, then another; and suddenly he knew where they were. The ostrich had led them right around the valley; Stalag 13 was not exactly nearby, but was certainly within reach. With a feeling of relief, Newkirk set off after Carter, who was almost out of sight.

He had not caught up when Charlie, who was even further ahead, suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked back. Carter came to a halt as well. "Newkirk, did you hear that?" he said.

Newkirk had not heard anything, but the bird's alert, watchful stance sent a chill down his back. Charlie's attention was focused on a thicket just to the left of where Carter was standing. As Newkirk increased his pace, there was a heavy rustling, and the low-lying branches moved. Carter, startled, took a few backward steps, lost his balance, and fell over. As he quickly struggled to a sitting position, he froze.

So did Newkirk. Then, instinctively, he reached for the only weapon he had at his disposal, the knife he'd retrieved from Schultz's pocket the day before; realised that it would be of no use whatsoever; wished he'd lifted Schultz's gun while he was at it, then concluded that even that might not have been enough to deal with this. And over all that, the same thought kept repeating itself: he'd never really understood before quite how big a tiger was.

The animal padded out from cover towards Carter, who stared at it wide-eyed, almost too astonished to be afraid. Newkirk had stopped breathing, and it took a conscious effort to start again.

"Carter," he said, very quietly, "don't move."

"Okay." Carter's voice was so shaky that Newkirk could hardly hear him. The tiger - God, it was huge! - was sniffing at his feet, in the finicky manner of a domestic tabby investigating its dinner. Newkirk's protective instinct kicked in.

"Oi!" he said firmly. "Get out of it, cat!" The tiger lifted its head, and looked at him with golden, alien eyes, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. He had never been so frightened of anything, that he could remember.

"_Don't_, Newkirk," Carter quavered.

Newkirk ignored him. Whatever it cost, he had to get that animal away from Carter. He beckoned with his free hand; the other still clutched the knife, although he knew it was useless. "Here, kitty," he said. "Come on."

And then the third member of the team took charge. Charlie raised his head, gave his wings a shake, and started his warning call again.

The tiger's attention shifted. It crouched, still within inches of Carter, and its tail began to twitch. Then it slunk forward towards Charlie. The ostrich stepped to the side, circling round. Then as the tiger neared, Charlie gave a leap, and aimed a powerful kick at the animal's head. The tiger drew back swiftly, out of range, and snarled. Charlie backed off, then made a break to the side, in the direction of the low, open ground below the woods. The tiger was after him at once, and they disappeared from sight.

Newkirk ran towards Carter. "Are you alright, Andrew?" he demanded. Carter nodded, weakly. He was beyond speaking. Newkirk hauled him to his feet, but had to hold him up. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here before it comes back."

"What about Charlie?" stammered Carter.

"Never mind the bleedin' ostrich," Newkirk snapped back. "He can take care of himself."

"But we can't leave him."

"Carter, we'd never catch up. He's gone. Now get a move on." He gave Carter a push in the direction they had just come from, putting an end to any further protest.

The sun emerged from cover as they passed the break in the trees. Newkirk pointed. "That road down there, that's the Hammelburg Road, just where it goes round towards the bridge. We're no more than ten miles from Stalag 13."

Carter wasn't even listening. "Look, there's Charlie. He's okay."

The ostrich's inelegant form could be seen, traversing a field. He looked, as always, completely in command of his surroundings. "I wonder where the tiger is?" Carter went on.

"Over there," Newkirk replied. "And he doesn't look good." The tiger was moving slowly along the edge of the field, and even at a distance, in the golden afternoon sunlight, it was easy to see that he was limping badly.

"Attaboy, Charlie," Carter shouted, overjoyed. "You showed him!"

"See, Andrew? You don't need to worry about Charlie. He's got everything under control," said Newkirk. "Now, let's get going, and we might just be home in time for tea."

They hadn't gone far when he noticed Carter was falling behind. "You alright, Carter?" he asked.

Carter stopped, with a slight grimace. "I must have landed on something when I fell," he said. "It feels like there's a real bad bruise coming, just about there." He ran his fingers over the painful spot, and winced.

"Look, Carter, if the worst anyone gets out of this is a bruised backside, then we've got nothing much to complain about," said Newkirk. "Now come on." He set off again, then stopped as he realised Carter hadn't moved, but was investigating the lower edge of his jacket. "Carter! Now what?"

Carter looked so guilty, it was almost ludicrous. "Newkirk," he said, practically in a whisper, "there's something in the lining of my jacket."

Newkirk's expression shifted from irritable to the stunned astonishment that usually preceded full-on rage. He didn't speak, but stalked back to where Carter was standing, twitched the jacket edge out of Carter's fingers and, turning it outward, used his knife to cut the stitching. A cylindrical metal container dropped out into his hand.

"Gosh," said Carter, breaking the silence. "So that's what I landed on. I guess Charlie didn't eat it, after all."


	8. Chapter 8

Newkirk just stood there, staring at the cylinder in his hand, utterly dumbfounded. Carter was watching him nervously. "I guess it must have just got caught in the lining, and worked its way around," he said. "Gee, I wonder what it was that Charlie picked up?"

"Carter," said Newkirk, maintaining control with an effort, "shut up. If you say one more word, I won't be answerable." He dropped the film into his pocket, and pointed down the road, with a glower that killed off any further remarks that Carter might have made. "That way. Start walking. "

They proceeded some way in silence before Newkirk's sense of the absurd took over, and he began to laugh. Soon he was laughing so hard he couldn't go any further. He leaned against the nearest tree trunk, shaking convulsively.

"You okay, Newkirk?" said Carter uncertainly, not quite able to grasp the ridiculousness of the situation in the way that his friend did.

Newkirk was beyond speaking for several minutes. Finally, he pulled himself together. "Carter, you'll be the death of me, one of these days," he said, in a voice that still teetered on the edge.

Carter wasn't sure what had happened, but he knew he was off the hook, as far as Newkirk was concerned, anyway.

Night had fallen by the time they reached familiar territory, but they knew this part of the woods so well that even without moonlight they could have found their way to the emergency tunnel. Gaining access to it proved to be more of a problem.

"What on earth are they playing at?" murmured Newkirk, as the spotlight swept across for the fifth time within two minutes.

"Maybe we've been missed," suggested Carter.

Newkirk shook his head. "I don't think so. We haven't seen any patrols or search parties. All the guards are inside the wire, or just outside. They look jumpy, too. I'm not sure they won't start shooting, if they see us." The spotlight passed over the tree stump entrance again. "We're going to have trouble with this," Newkirk concluded.

"What if we just go and give ourselves up?" said Carter.

"Not while we've got the film. We don't want to be found with it, and after everything we've been through, I'm not leaving it behind." Newkirk turned his attention to the compound, where the prisoners could be seen, forming up for roll-call. "So close, and we still can't get there," he muttered. "There has to be some way to distract the guards."

Colonel Hogan was thinking the same thing. The search of the woods had turned up neither the tiger nor his men. The tiger's absence was good news, as far as it went, but he was worried about Carter and Newkirk. LeBeau had gone way past worried, and was accelerating towards frantic, and even Kinch showed signs of losing his cool.

"Alright, I know," said Hogan, when their combined representations got too heated. "But it's the same problem we've had all along; we don't know where they are. The only good news is that if Newkirk obeyed orders and started back after twenty-four hours, we can assume they're getting close, and we know the tiger's not in our woods."

"And what if they met the tiger somewhere between there and here?" said LeBeau.

Hogan didn't reply, and at the look on his face, LeBeau wished he hadn't spoken.

Schultz's arrival broke the silence that had fallen over the barracks. "Roll-call. Everybody out of the barracks." He couldn't fail to notice how subdued the men were as they filed out, and he began to look anxious. As he counted them in their lines, he got even more anxious.

"Colonel Hogan," he whispered, "there are two men missing."

"That's right, Schultz," said Hogan. " Carter and Newkirk didn't come back with us yesterday." Every so often, he stopped trying to fool Schultz, and just told him the truth. It was something of a relief to be able to do so, and because it was always something Schultz didn't want to know, it was pretty safe. In fact it was often the best strategy, as Schultz was never more useful than when he had a personal interest in the cover-up.

"But...but...they were here this morning. Newkirk was here. I saw him"

"No, that was Captain Outhwaite. He was standing in. Schultz, you really should learn to pay attention."

"Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant will go out of his mind," Schultz whimpered.

"Yes, he will," agreed Hogan. "So if you can think of any way to keep him from finding out, we'll all be better off. I've managed the last two roll-calls, now it's someone else's turn."

Schultz's eyes widened in dismay. "Colonel Hogan, _please...._" he began.

The Kommandant's voice cut across his entreaty. "Report!"

"Oh, boy," muttered Schultz, and slowly turned around.

"Schultz, _report_!" demanded Klink.

"_Herr Kommandant_..." Schultz began. His voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat, and tried again. "_Herr Kommandant_, I beg to report...that is to say, there is something...I have to inform you that..."

The Kommandant interrupted him. "Schultz, it's been a long day. All I want is to have just one normal, everyday piece of routine business. Then I can go to my quarters, have a glass of warm milk, go to bed and forget that today ever happened. Now, report."

Schultz's shoulders sagged a little, and he opened his mouth to reply. But whether he was going to delay the discovery, or destroy what was left of the Kommandant's peace of mind, would never be known.

Kinch had not been paying attention for some minutes. He was staring at the guard tower to the right of the main gate. As Schultz turned to make his report, he leaned forward.

"Colonel," he said, "there's something wrong with the tower."

Hogan turned his attention towards the tower. Then he tilted his head slightly.

"It's gotta be off by at least six degrees," he murmured.

"More than that," said Kinch. "And it's getting worse."

Then, just as Schultz was about to speak, the tower wobbled, before listing to the left as the earth beneath it subsided. The guard who was manning it gave an unmilitary shriek, and clutched at the nearest upright, and the spotlight, abandoned to the forces of gravity, slewed round to point directly at the Kommandant, who stood as if petrified, unable to believe his eyes.

"I didn't know we had a tunnel there," said LeBeau, staring.

"We don't," replied Kinch. "Unless some of the guys have gone freelance. Colonel, what the hell...?"

Hogan, for once, was as taken aback as Klink. He stared in astonishment at the tower, which remained poised at a perilous angle. "Guys, I have no idea what just happened."

Neither had Newkirk; but he knew an opportunity when he saw it. It took a few seconds to get his wits back when he saw the tower start to tilt. Then he realised that one spotlight was out of action, and further, that the sentries in the other nearby towers had turned their lights towards the impending disaster. He grabbed Carter's arm. "Let's go," he hissed. "Quick, Carter."

Carter was too dazed to argue. They scampered towards the tree stump, opened the tunnel entrance and scrambled inside.

Inside the compound, Klink was close to apoplectic, and so incoherent that the guards had no idea what it was that he was screaming at them to do. Hogan had to take it upon himself to order the prisoners back to the barracks.

"Do you think Newkirk and Carter could have caused that, somehow?" asked Kinch, once they were inside.

Hogan rubbed his forehead. "I'm beginning to think anything's possible."

A soft tapping noise from below the tunnel bunk forestalled any further discussion. Hogan strode across to punch the opening mechanism, and as the bunk slid upwards, he felt a surge of relief.

"You made it, then," was all he said.

Newkirk was looking pleased with himself as he emerged from below. "Piece of cake, sir," he said. "And we've got the film."

"You're kidding." Hogan stared at him. "We thought it was a lost cause. So the ostrich gave it up."

Newkirk glanced at Carter, who was still at the top of the ladder. "Well, it's a funny thing about that, sir."

"Newkirk...!" muttered Carter, going red.

"Never mind that," LeBeau broke in. "Did you know there's a tiger out there somewhere?"

"Is that right?" said Newkirk. "Actually, we did get an inkling, didn't we, Carter?"

"Uh, yeah." Carter looked away, trying not to laugh.

"Is that all you can say?" LeBeau glared at the two of them. "We were worried sick about you."

In spite of his best efforts Carter had started giggling, but Newkirk maintained his self-possession. "You didn't have to worry about us, LeBeau. We had Charlie on our team. The tiger never stood a chance."

It wasn't until the following morning that the mystery of the collapsing tower was solved. The changeable weather had finally settled down to a persistent misty rain, excuse enough for the prisoners to stay indoors.

Newkirk and LeBeau were engaged on finishing Outhwaite's going-away suit. The captain had expressed a sudden desire for a double-breasted jacket, but Newkirk had managed to talk him out of it: "They're not wearing them on the Continent this year, sir."

"And there isn't enough material," muttered LeBeau, bending his head over his work so as not to be heard. "Not in the whole of Germany."

Around mid-morning Schultz wandered into the barracks. His mood had brightened considerably on finding that the two missing men were no longer missing. "_Guten Morgen_, gentlemen," he said cheerfully.

"Morning, Schultz," said Carter, who was sitting on the floor next to his bunk, leaning to one side a little to keep the pressure off the bruise, and consoling himself over the parting with Charlie by making friends with Blanche, LeBeau's wallaby. He'd had a rather trying half-hour the previous evening, when the whole saga had come out, but Newkirk had managed to make the story so entertaining that even Colonel Hogan had ended up laughing.

"What's new, Schultz?" added Hogan, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"The news is, the tiger has been recaptured. Apparently Herr Koch is livid. He wants to know what the tiger got into a fight with. They had to operate, and it's not easy giving an anaesthetic to an angry tiger."

"Can't imagine what could have done that," murmured Newkirk, with a glance at Carter. "So how'd you hear about it, Schultz?"

"The men from the zoo were here this morning to look at the burrow under the guard tower," said Schultz.

"Burrow?" Hogan looked up. "Not a tunnel, then?"

"No, it was a burrow. They found animal tracks all around. They say it looks like their missing aardvarks were there." Schultz gurgled. "The Kommandant is almost around the bend. One more zoo animal at Stalag 13 and he will crack like an egg."

"Have they found any other animals yet, Schultz?" asked Carter, smoothing down the fur on Blanche's back.

"No. Wait - just one. Their ostrich came home of its own accord, some time in the night."

Carter smiled. "I knew he'd be okay," he murmured.

Schultz looked at him, then at Blanche. His contented expression folded in on itself and re-emerged as trepidation. "Carter...what is that?"

"It's a wallaby, Schultz," said Hogan. "They come from Australia."

Schultz began to back away. "No, this is not good. Pets are not allowed in the barracks. No animals are allowed in the barracks. Especially not animals from Australia. Colonel Hogan, I will have to report this."

"That's great, Schultz," said Hogan. "We were going to tell the Kommandant, but nobody had the nerve to face him. You've got real guts, Schultz, going in there knowing he'll...what was it you said? Crack like an egg?"

Schultz stared at him, then at Blanche. His chin quivered, and he began to whisper, "I see nothing. Nothing...." His voice died away as he backed out of the barracks.

Carter got up, moving Blanche aside, and went to the door to check on him, while the wallaby hopped across to seek some petting from Kinch. He tickled her between the ears. "Aardvarks," he said. "Well, that just beats everything."

"It sure does," agreed Hogan meditatively. "You know, it might be useful to volunteer to fill in the burrow. It'd be handy to have some kind of access directly under the guard tower."

"Colonel, I think we've done enough manual labour for one week," said Newkirk.

Carter, still at the door, turned his head. "I think it's a great idea," he said. "And you know, guys, it's just like the colonel said."

"What did the colonel say, Carter?" asked LeBeau, with a puzzled frown.

"Yeah, Carter," added Hogan. "What was it I said?"

Carter eased the door open, knowing he'd have to make a run for it. Then, with a grin, he replied:

"_Aardvarks never killed anyone_."


End file.
